These Things We Know To Be True
by Jedi Buttercup
Summary: It was bad enough he went off world all the time where she couldn't follow. (Ring of the Gods 'verse).
1. These Things We Know To Be True

**Title**: These Things We Know To Be True

**Author**: Jedi Buttercup

**Rating**: PG-13

**Disclaimer**: The words are mine; the worlds are not.

**Summary**: B:tVS/Stargate SG-1. _Cam had been his usual impulsive, emotionally driven self – and the plans he'd made with his new girlfriend had fallen by the wayside._ 2600 words.

**Spoilers**: Stargate SG-1 season 9, especially 9.14 "Stronghold" & 9.15 "Ethon". Post-series for B:tVS, no comics.

**Notes**: Written for kerrykhat, who asked for more Ring of the Gods 'verse. Directly follows the story "Power of Two".

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><p>Cam pulled up in front of his house after his commiseratory beer with Jackson – and subsequent detoxing time – feeling even more morose than when first he'd walked into his teammate's lab. Not only had the SGC lost Colonel Pendergast and nearly a third of the <em>Pegasus<em> crew that week, an entire nation not too unlike theirs had been razed to the ground partly through enemy influence and partly their own sheer bloody-mindedness. And the worst part – well, far from the worst, but the thing that kept dragging at him now it was over – was that it had all started with one man trying to do the right thing … and that he couldn't stop wishing that that one man had just let his country claim its victory without dragging them into it.

It would all have come down to the same thing: Caledonia refusing to bow the knee and ordering a missile attack, while their Rand Protectorate opponents wielded their Ori-given satellite like a baby Death Star in retaliation. But if Senator Jared Kane had been just a little less noble – if he hadn't sacrificed his own career reaching out to Jackson for help – they wouldn't have taken nearly forty Tau'ri soldiers with them, Earth's only completed Milky Way-based mothership, and a vast chunk of the SGC's morale. That was irony for you.

There was just no winning with the Ori, and Cam's optimism had taken some pretty severe hits over the last few months already. Pendergast's memorial had come pretty close on the heels of his old friend Bryce Ferguson's, and he still wasn't sure where to put the guilt _that_ had left him with.

At least he'd been able to fill Bryce in before he'd died. And at least Pendergast had gone saving the lives of two thirds of his crew. Heck, the way things had gone in the skies over Tegalus, Cam had narrowly escaped earning an 'at least' for his own tombstone, too.

He sat in the truck a moment, listening to the engine tick, then rubbed a hand over his face and got out. He'd been sorely tempted to stay on base that night, but he just hadn't been able to face the VIP rooms, not with the news hanging over the SGC like a funeral pall. He'd figured even a few hours away, sleeping between his own comfortably worn sheets, would make the trip worth the effort.

He still had the nagging feeling that he'd forgotten something that day, but it didn't fully register what it was until he stepped out onto the concrete and it almost literally smacked him in the face. Cam caught a foot in the door, shot out a hand to keep himself from face-planting on the roof of the sporty Jeep parked on the other half of the drive, then gaped, abruptly remembering what day of the week it was.

Wincing, he walked up to the front door like a man condemned, bracing himself for Buffy's reaction. It was bad enough he went off world all the time where she couldn't follow. Now he'd managed to lose himself _on_ world when he was supposed to be with her for the third time since they'd decided to give the thing growing between them a chance.

He could see the flickering light of candles guttering low as he turned his key in the lock and opened the front door, and he could smell fresh-cooked pasta in the air. He should have remembered to call her, or at least send a text to warn her that he'd decided to hand-deliver Landry's letter to Pendergast's family himself. But Cam had been his usual impulsive, emotionally driven self – and the plans he'd made with his new girlfriend had fallen by the wayside.

"Buffy?" he called, tentatively, as he stopped over the threshold. "Sweetheart? I'm so sorry."

Explanations – excuses, really – stacked up behind his tongue, but he didn't even try to air them. For all she couldn't go on missions, Buffy was at least as much a part of the SGC as he was; O'Neill had hired her not long after Cam had crashed defending his team in that dogfight over Antarctica. They both owed their current careers to the legendary former leader of SG-1 … but she'd had that whole year he'd spent healing to sink roots in the program, and since she worked with Slayers assigned to a variety of duty stations and positions she probably knew more people there personally than he did. And though she never talked much about her life before, he knew it had been rough, and not all that different from what she was doing now. She'd understand, better than most.

He still needed to apologize, though. The way he'd been raised, a guy was supposed to put his gal _first_ as much as he could, and he'd been falling down on that job. Cam wasn't an expert on building long-term relationships, but he was pretty sure 'taking her for granted' didn't qualify.

"Buffy?" he called again, dropping his keys in the tray on the hall table and his duffel on the floor. Then he went hunting, pinching off candles as he trailed through the living room and running water to soak the solitary plate and fork crusting with sauce in the sink. She wasn't in the guest bedroom, either, where he'd stowed the change of clothes she left last time she came over. Just the traces she'd left behind. She'd made an imprint on so much of his life already, he wasn't sure what he'd do when she decided she'd had enough. He'd promised he wouldn't let things get 'weird' between them if it didn't work out, but honestly, he figured he'd have better luck quitting the program than he would treating her like an ordinary colleague again.

Finally, he pushed open the door of his bedroom, and in the flickering light of the muted television he spotted her napping atop the comforter. She wasn't wearing anything deliberately sexy, just one of his tee shirts, long enough to skim halfway down her thighs, but the picture she made caught at his breath all the same: a slight smile curving her relaxed mouth, Air Force blue nail polish winking from her dainty toenails, and one hand curled in front of her chest, reaching toward him.

"Buffy?" he said for the third time, quietly, heart in his throat.

She blinked her eyes open, slowly, then focused on him with a drowsy frown. "Cam?"

"I'm so sorry," he repeated himself again, quietly. "I just got home – it completely slipped my mind that you'd be here tonight."

She arched her back in a long, toe-curling stretch, rucking up the tee shirt far enough to make his palms sweat in anticipation. "Mmm. Figured," she said, then scooted up to prop herself against the pillows and headboard. She didn't seem angry, though; just concerned – which he both appreciated, and made him feel worse about screwing up. "You look wrecked. What happened?"

He winced. "Went to the Pendergasts … heard the news from Jackson about the Tegalans. Did you...?"

"Yeah, I was sparring with Sam when the _Daedalus_ reported in." She pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, looking troubled. "It never gets any easier, does it."

"What doesn't?" he asked, taking off his shoes and cautiously sliding onto the bed next to her.

"You think you're doing the right thing – you're so _sure_ of it, down to your bones, about whatever or whoever – but then it all goes horribly wrong. People die because of your decisions, and even if they technically _chose_ it, even if it technically wasn't your fault. If you'd chosen just a little bit differently..." She trailed off, letting him fill in the blanks for himself.

"Survivor's guilt," he said hoarsely, reaching automatically out to wrap an arm around her shoulders in comfort. Whether for him or for her, though, he wasn't quite sure. "'S'what Ferguson called it."

Buffy shifted against him, snuggling in close and pressing her cheek against his chest. "He was right," she said, softly, then took a shaky breath. "Did I ever tell you how my Mom died?"

"No." Cam knew the only family she had was her younger sister and a few friends from high school, and she knew about his parents, but they hadn't yet gone into detail about their pasts. "What happened?"

"Aneurysm. Just like your friend. She had a tumor, and they took it out, and we all thought – she was so much better. Happy. Dating again, and everything. But then I came home from college one day – and, and found her. On the couch." She clenched her fingers agitatedly in his shirt.

"Aw, hell." He couldn't imagine. He pulled her closer, wrapping his other arm around her, heart aching as he tucked his chin against the top of her head. "How old were you?"

"Old enough to be appointed my sister's guardian," she replied, dryly, "but young enough to do a terrible job of it, not even counting the part where I was dead for a few months myself."

"Dead?" He blinked, jarred briefly out of the heavy mood by that impossibility. Only it wasn't – not in the Stargate program. "Right; I forgot. Jackson said once your record for that's nearly as bad as his is."

Buffy snorted. "Not even. I've only been dead like three times. About Mom, though … Bryce was right."

"You mean, about all the what if's?"

"Yeah."

He sighed, stirring strands of blonde hair against his mouth, then relaxed his grip a little, shifting so he could get a better view of her face. "Thank you for coming with me when I took him the game, by the way; he was really tickled that I'd brought you to meet him. Said you brightened his last hours, like concentrated sunshine, or some other such nonsense."

She chuckled at that, as he'd intended, smiling faintly. "No problem. I might hate the institution, but I can handle a few hours in a hospital for a friend's sake. He seemed like a nice guy. Kind of a Xander."

"I'll have to take your word for that," he replied; he hadn't met her Cleveland-based friends yet, but he knew she meant it as a compliment. "But, yeah. The world's a poorer place without him."

"Isn't it always," she sighed, expression going distant. "Even Navel-guy probably made someone smile at least once in his life. But the Ori don't care if you're happy. They only care that you worship them."

Cam guessed she meant President Nadal, the Rand leader who'd ordered the _Prometheus_ destroyed even while Colonel Pendergast was trying to surrender, and made a noise of disgust. "Well, they aren't going to get any worshipers out of the mess on Tegalus now."

"Gotta break a few eggs to make an omelet," Buffy said, darkly, "and better no survivors than resisters who might infect others with their poison, right?"

Cam shuddered. "I hate that you're probably right about that. Scratch that; I hate the Ori, full stop. And the Ancients, too. How the hell are we gonna stop an opponent that powerful without their help?"

Buffy tensed, to the point it was like wrapping an arm around a bundle of steel cabling rather than a live, yielding woman. "You never give up," she replied.

"And never surrender?" he snorted.

"_No._"

He'd been expecting another subdued chuckle at the sci-fi joke, but she pulled out of his arms instead, the rejection almost torn from her throat. Then she sat up straighter, staring at him with a blazing ferocity that reminded him that her official job was an actual _description_, not just a _title_, never mind the laughing blonde façade she wore most days.

"You don't even know," she said. "I know you've fought losing battles before. I know you've experienced things you'll never forget or forgive. I know you've been tortured, and hurt, and believed you might not live to see another day. But you don't _know_ what war on this level is like, against beings that don't think like you, don't feel like you, and could squash you like a gnat if they thought you deserved that much attention. When your best weapons fail you, when your friends die, when they rip away the things that matter most and expect you to choke on them, when you have to make impossible decisions just to seize a microscopic chance at victory – even then, you _never give up_."

"And then..." he murmured, amazed by the passion radiating from every cell of her body.

He wondered if the rest of SG-1 had felt that way, during the worst of the struggles against Apophis and Anubis. It would explain a lot about their sometimes uncomfortably reserved or fatalistic attitudes, like Teal'c's or Jackson's, if they all carried that kind of banked ferocity under the surface. No wonder he still felt like an outsider sometimes. Cam hadn't rolled off the turnip truck yesterday, not when it came to war, or guilt, or pain – but all his experiences before the SGC had been on a much more human scale. No mission report could ever have prepared him for the reality of fighting beings with the reach and power to get away with calling themselves gods.

"And then you have to live with it," she said, deflating. "But they _won't_. And that has to be enough."

"Only that?" he said softly, reaching out to lift her chin with a finger as he collected himself to reply. "I mean. I know I'm no real prize, and I probably won't stop screwing up anytime soon, but I like to think I've had a hand in a few moments lately that were better than _just enough_."

She blinked, then snorted suddenly and shifted back in close, bracketing his thighs with her own. "I don't know," she said, melting from warrior back into woman again, "you might have to give me a few more demonstrations before I can make that kind of assessment..."

His mouth opened to hers, and he slid a hand up under the hem of her loose shirt as nimble fingers worked at the button of his jeans.

Several moments later, noticeably bright-eyed and shorter of breath, Buffy pulled back and pressed a palm to his cheek. "About today, though. I knew what I was getting into with you, dumbass. I've _had_ a boyfriend who also just so happened to work for the government, and I've dated a soldier who just so happened to also be my boyfriend. I know the difference. And I know you're more door number two. Duh; so am I. Just don't ever lie to me, and we'll work it out."

Then she broke into a mischievous grin and – wriggled. "Though, making it up to me every time? That'll help, too."

Cam laughed, feeling lighter than he had all day, and moved to indulge his lady's whim.

Later, much later, after Cam finally got up to lock up the apartment and they soaped each other up under the warm spray of the shower, she murmured one more truth against his caressing palms: _I wish I was out there fighting with you_.

_I wish you were, too_, he murmured back, remembering the visitor who'd woken them up to each other in the first place. The other Queen Slayer. _Maybe someday you will_.

The next day at noon, a text message appeared on Buffy's phone:

AMULET BROKE. CALLING KNDRA 2NITE. DID UR BOSS GET HER PAPERS?

Timing was everything. Maybe someone other than the Ori was listening, after all.

-x-


	2. Nowhere To Go But Up

**Title**: Nowhere To Go But Up

**Author**: Jedi Buttercup

**Disclaimer**: The words are mine; the world is not.

**Rating**: PG-ish

**Summary**: _Kendra's smile was not entirely without shadows; but there was a level of satisfaction in it that told Buffy she'd definitely made the right call_ 1500 words.

**Spoilers**: Post-Chosen; set during SG-1 9.16, "Off the Grid"

**Notes**: Another series update: this time for the "Ring of the Gods" 'verse. Kendra arrives! Originally posted to LJ on Aug 29.

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><p>Buffy looked up from her desk at the sound of a knock against her open office door, and broke into an appreciative smile at the sight of her visitor. "Nice," she said, taking in the effect of Lieutenant Colonel Cameron Mitchell dressed entirely in leather and dark, distressed fabrics.<p>

The pants clung in all the right places; the leather vambraces on his wrists combined with the very short-sleeved shirt emphasized the firm muscle of his biceps and forearms; and the heavy belt slung low on his hips completed the look, drawing the unwary eye away from his galactically infamous features. Or even the _wary_ eye; Buffy let her eyes do the walking for a minute, appreciating her boyfriend's assets, before meeting his twinkling blue gaze.

She'd been putting the finishing touches on Kenda's paperwork; Willow had been visiting in Cleveland when the amulet broke to signal that the alternate-universe version of Buffy's successor was ready to take them up on their offer, and had chosen to work the spell to bring her across there, where other Council witches were available to help her. That had given them a few days' cushion to complete the arrangements for Kendra Young to officially join the SGC... but it also meant a few more days before Buffy could go off-world. General Landry wanted them both in the same place before they tried that experiment again, after the disaster that had happened last time Buffy had stepped through a Stargate.

She was _pretty_ sure it wouldn't happen again, now that they had a second Queen Slayer to anchor the line; but she understood the caution. It didn't make her any happier about Cam going off-world yet again without her, though. Especially dressed like _that_.

"So that's what the aspiring interstellar drug lord is wearing these days," she said, dropping her pen and stretching a little as she stood. "Off to P6G-452 already?"

He met her halfway between the door and the desk. "'Fraid so," he said, tugging self-consciously at the leather strapping over his shirt and vest. "I know you were just itchin' to try out these nifty Undercover Rawhides..."

"It's not the leather _per se_, do you have any idea how many times I petitioned O'Neill to redesign the base uniform?" she chuckled, running curious fingers over the buckles, the leather pauldron cupped over one shoulder, the vee neck of the shirt, and those deliciously exposed forearms. "And the one time you go out wearing anything _but_..."

"Aw, there'll be other chances," he said, basking in the attention with a wry smile and lifting his arms to drape around her shoulders. "You'd have been bored this time anyway; all we're gonna do is stand around in a field of space corn and bargain with its owner to try and find out where it came from. You tellin' me you've got some particular experience with crops?"

"I don't know, are we talking about the kind that grows in the ground, or the kind that comes with a handle?" she teased, then leaned up for a good morning kiss.

The sound of a clearing throat came from behind Cam; as they broke apart, she caught sight of Daniel studiously looking the other way where he stood in the doorway, dressed in equally form-fitting gear. She usually thought of him first as friend and Watcher material and only second as an attractive guy, but the latter was impossible to ignore today. She was tempted to follow them down to the control room to see them off; she bet Teal'c and Sam rounded out the team in a quartet of smoking hotness.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm com... I'm on my way," Cam hastily corrected himself mid-sentence, smirking as he pulled back from her. "Look, it's probably going to be a short mission; but if we do miss Kendra's arrival, tell her 'hi' from me, okay? This whole parallel universe thing has got to be weird for her, however much she was expecting it."

"Will do," Buffy agreed, then raised her voice. "Keep an eye on him for me, would you, Daniel?"

"You want _him_ to keep an eye on _me_?" Cam scoffed. "You _are_ aware that his track record on missions is _way_ worse than mine is."

"Quantity? Maybe. Percentage-wise...?" Daniel snarked at him. "Personally, I'm looking forward to having an extra Slayer on the team for just that reason; our luck has nowhere to go but up."

Buffy laughed, and sent them off with a wave. Then she went back to her desk, determined to finish up before security called down to let her know her visitors had finally arrived.

The klaxon announcing the outgoing wormhole came and went while she worked; she kept herself motivated by the thought that she'd be walking through it with them at least half the time in future. When the call finally came, she cracked her knuckles with satisfaction, smiling as she headed for the conference room set aside for Kendra's orientation.

The other Slayer had already been on an alternate Gate team for years, but she'd still have to go through the standard initial procedures to make sure there wasn't some tiny yet super significant difference between their universes, and they also needed to give her the ID and backstory for her 'new' identity. The Kendra Young of _their_ universe had died in Sunnydale; since the town was now at the bottom of a pit, it had been a simple matter to _edit_ her records to erase any trace of a death certificate, paving the way for the second Kendra to take over her identity. But they'd still had to concoct an explanation for what she'd done in the intervening years.

Willow- _her_ proper Willow with the long red hair, shot through with a few strawberries and cream strands, and an intricately designed commitment ring on her right hand rather than the parallel Willow's short-cut hair and plain gold wedding band- rose from a chair as Buffy entered and greeted her with a firm hug. "Buffy! It's good to see you."

"Good to see you too, Will," she replied with a smile, then turned to the other woman in the room. "Kendra! I was starting to worry."

Kendra looked much the same as she had the last time they'd seen one another, several weeks before, bar a few minor cuts and bruises. "You were right about de First Evil," she said, "but I was right about de new Slayer as well... she needed training, and I could not leave her to be Spike's third kill."

"So did you get him?" Buffy felt conflicted at the thought, after all she'd been through with her Spike; but Kendra's had never been at Angelus' mercy in a wheelchair, or got chipped by the Initiative, or lost his dark princess. He'd set up shop as Master on the Hellmouth, and maneuvered things so even the Watcher's Council was forced to do his bidding or face intolerable consequences.

"We did," Kendra nodded. "We took your advice about his leman, and sought her out first. Once Drusilla was gone, Spike became much more impatient and erratic. It still was not easy, but he is finally dust; the line of Aurelius is at an end, and a Vampire Slayer guards the Mouth of Hell once more."

"That's _great_," Buffy said, suppressing a pang at the thought. "You did it! And now you're _here_."

"Yes." Kendra's smile was not entirely without shadows; but there was a level of satisfaction in it that told Buffy she'd definitely made the right call, making the offer of refuge to Kendra when the Stargate system had malfunctioned and temporarily dropped her in their lap. "I look forward to de challenge."

Buffy was, too. She'd been carrying a lot of hope ever since Kendra's first appearance, hope that was finally about to be realized. She was glad to see Kendra for her own sake, too, of course; as little as she'd known the other Slayer in her own timeline, and as jealous as she'd been of the girl's instant rapport with Giles, she'd also _liked_ the Jamaican Slayer, and always felt obscurely guilty about the manner of her death.

From what she'd heard about her own death in this Kendra's timeline, she imagined the other Slayer felt very similarly about _her_. That would undoubtedly make things a little awkward, navigating a new friendship and working relationship around the ghosts between them, but the spark of rapport Buffy had felt during their first meeting was definitely still there; it gave her a good feeling about the future.

"Hold onto that thought; because we have a whole lot of paperwork to get through first," Buffy smiled, dropping her accumulated stack of folders on the table.

Kendra groaned at the sight, with all the familiarity of someone who'd been through the process before.

"Airman, could we get some coffee?" Buffy summoned one of Walter's minions, then pulled out a chair next to Kendra's, and got to work.


End file.
